


The Placebo Sequence

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-16
Updated: 2011-10-16
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:26:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter has only ever had two goals in life: to defeat Voldemort and to bring his followers to justice. One, he's done. The other is in progress. It should be simple, except there's one former Death Eater who doesn't meet the right criteria.</p><p>6,800 words. Harry/Draco. NC-17. Warnings for minor character murder; infidelity; EWE. Spoiler warnings in Notes. Written for hp_darkfest. October 2011.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Placebo Sequence

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompt at hp_darkfest: _(apologies to Dexter) In the aftermath of the War, Harry lives a double life: devoted husband and up-and-coming Auror by day, vigilante serial killer by night. Harry has a code, of course, and only seeks to bring justice to those who manage to avoid it. All the Auror Dept knows is that Death Eaters keep disappearing, but is that cause for celebration or concern? And will Harry be able to comply with his code of ethics, or will he eventually succumb to his own dark urges?_
> 
> I fell completely in love with this prompt and the idea that, possibly contrary to canon, Harry _could_ kill if given enough motivation. **Additional spoiler-ish warning:** Possible major character death in one of several universes, but it's ambiguous.

  


***

**i. It happens like this:**

  
" _Incarcerous_."

Ropes flew from Harry's wand, winding around one ankle in a flash and hauling the suspect back to the dingy kitchen. He fell, trying to stop himself with his free leg and hands, but more ropes quickly grabbed him. The spell pinned him against the wall as the ropes held him firm by each wrist and ankle.

Harry's boots echoed on the grimy stone floor as he stalked towards the man, wand high, his Auror robes billowing behind him. Bad move, but he hadn't had time to change today. Reports that Dolohov had been spotted in a village in Wales had only come across the wireless that afternoon. Harry had been forced to act fast, before anyone official could do so.

Well.

Anyone official besides him, of course.

"That the best you got?" Yellowing teeth appeared as Dolohov pulled his lips back, favouring Harry with a condescending smirk. "Think the Dark Lord never tied me up with a bit of rope?" He cackled. "I'll be out before you can blink an eye, Potter. Before you can even get your boys here as back-up." His grin turned feral. "Before you're even home for dinner, I'll be climbin' in your bedroom window, have that pretty wife of yours all to m'self."

Rage swirled in Harry's belly as soon as the words _Dark Lord_ were out of Dolohov's mouth. The thought of this scum coming anywhere near Ginny just made it even worse. It was criminal that the Wizengamot had let half the Death Eaters go after the war. _Reformed citizens_ , yeah right. Evil like this never went away.

Not unless it was forced to.

"I don't think so," he said quietly. He appraised the ropes. They were good. They'd hold. This was the part when the rage began to ebb, when tranquility took over. This was the easy part. He almost preferred it when they struggled, biting invective at him and making his job so much more bearable. The ones who begged for their lives... they were harder. But this one... no. Calm certainty poured through Harry's body like a soft rain.

Only two more words, and it would be done.

The first: he raised his wand again and focused. " _Expelliarmus_!"

Dolohov's wand sailed into Harry's open hand from a coat pocket; he hadn't even drawn it yet. Harry closed his fist around it in triumph before storing it safely in his pocket. "Fuck you, Potter!" As if Dolohov hadn't seen that one coming. Harry shook his head. "You think you can kill me?" Dolohov bellowed, thrashing against the ropes. "Take it from someone who knows: you cast a spell like that, and they'll be on you in a heartbeat. You heard the Minister: no more vengeance killings." He was going hoarse now, his voice gravelled even as he kept shouting. "We're proper citizens now, whether you like it or not."

As it turned out, Harry didn't like it. Not one bit. He didn't bother to answer. Instead, he glanced back at the kitchen counter for the item he'd placed aside earlier, when Dolohov was still occupied with trying to intimidate him. The blade was dull, like it had chopped up one too many chicken livers in this kitchen over the years, but it would do. Dolohov was right about one thing: the Aurors would indeed know if Harry cast the Killing Curse, and Boy Who Lived or not, they _would_ probably send him to Azkaban for it, or at least into exile somewhere.

That wasn't going to happen. He had a life here. He'd _fought_ for a life here: a beautiful wife, caring friends and a job he was devoted to. He'd do anything to keep that life.

Now for the second word. Harry stepped to the side and lifted his wand one final time. As he pointed it at the knife, it began to tremble against the wooden countertop.

"Jesus, Potter! You're not– come _on_ , mate. I've never done nothin' to you, not really. You can't just tie me up and–"

The word hissed softly under Harry's breath, his focus absolute. Banished with a simple spell to a designated spot, the knife sailed across the kitchen, gathering velocity. With a sickening thud, it landed in Dolohov's chest.

He screamed, coughed, sputtered, then fell silent.

Harry removed the spare wand from his pocket and set it on the kitchen table. No sense keeping it. He avoided Dolohov's empty eyes as he made his way to the kitchen door and quietly left.

  


***

  
"Smells delicious." Harry grinned as he stepped from the Floo, dusting off his robes before taking them off and carefully Banishing them to the hall closet.

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Nice try, dear husband. It smells like takeaway pizza." She clinked her wineglass with Hermione beside her on the sofa, and Ron guffawed from his perch in front of the wireless. "We got tired of waiting for you."

"Sorry." He leaned down to kiss her, then gave Hermione's shoulder a squeeze and Ron a casual hand-slap in greeting.

"Did you cut yourself, Harry?"

He stopped halfway to the kitchen, his heart skipping a beat. "Hm?" He didn't turn around.

When he did, Hermione was scraping at a bit of red on the sleeve of her jumper. "Your finger," she added, looking up at him.

He swallowed, then schooled his features into a look of surprise. "Oh. I didn't notice." He investigated his hand and found a drop of blood on one finger. A splatter. He wet his lips. "Must have caught the edge of the Floo coming through. I'll go clean up."

"Bring another bottle from the kitchen when you come back, would you?" Ginny called. "I've still got to piece together this story tonight, and it won't be any use without more wine." She and Ron laughed while Hermione tutted, and Harry found himself grinning at the familiarity of it all. His life was perfect. He would do anything to defend it, to make sure evil never encroached on it again.

As he went down the hall to the bedroom, the rest of them continued to chat.

"What's the story?" Hermione asked.

"Death Eater disappearances," said Ginny. "Luna's convinced something strange is going on, but we're not getting anywhere with it. Basic _Quibbler_ rubbish, if you ask me."

"That rubbish pays for your wine, you know," said Ron, laughing.

"I'm _aware_ , which is why I'll look into it if she wants me to. It's all clean, though. I can't make any sense of it. The bastards keep turning up dead, but the Aurors have no leads."

Hermione's voice was quiet. "Harry can't help with that?"

Harry gripped the doorknob of his bedroom in the darkened hallway, not making a sound.

"Nah," sighed Ginny. "I've tried asking him, but he says he doesn't know any more than anyone else in the department. They haven't sent him on those cases." She paused. "I think they're afraid it'll upset him too much. He's still so close to all that stuff, you know? Sometimes when he hears about those guys going free, he just... I don't know." Her voice dropped. "He sort of blanks, staring off into space. I'm a bit worried about him, actually."

Steeling his jaw, Harry turned the handle and entered his bedroom. He stripped his shirt off and dumped it in the laundry bin, then went into the loo. The hot water needed some time to warm up, dammit, but he ran his hands under the cool flow, inspecting his nails and knuckles and the dips of each line in his palm. When the hot water came through at last, he grabbed the bar of soap and washed every bit of blood clear, those he could see and those he couldn't.

He returned to the living room to listen to the match with Ron and eat leftover pizza. Life was good. All was as it should be.

  


***

  
"I know what you're doing."

The soft huff of breath against the back of Harry's neck sent a jolt through him, but he only took a deep breath, methodically pressed the button for the lift and shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't turn around. "That so?" He wouldn't confirm or deny anything. He'd done a lot of things lately, after all, most of them fully sanctioned by the Auror office. _Most_ of them.

"I suppose you think you're clever, saving the world yet again. It won't work, though." The voice turned in a heartbeat from smug to concerned, the whisper increasingly desperate. " _They're onto you_."

Harry did turn at that, but slowly. He regarded Malfoy for a long moment, heedless of the people pushing past them into the lift. He stepped to the side without thinking about it, and just as naturally, Malfoy followed him, keeping them aligned in their face-off. Harry leaned in as close as he dared. " _They_ ," he said quietly, "or you?" He forced himself to hold Malfoy's gaze.

"I'm one of them. Remember?" Malfoy clenched his left fist, and Harry could picture the twist of ink under his sleeve, the distortion of faded black lines with every flex of that arm.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy. I'm late for a meeting." He slid into the lift with the crowd when it opened a second time, but he met Malfoy's eyes, each of them watching the other from either side of the closing doors. He saw something then, something he hadn't seen in the others. Malfoy wasn't afraid of what Harry might do. He _didn't_ actually think he was one of them.

Malfoy was still standing outside the lift, his deep grey robes regal and sharp against his body, his jaw set and his left hand still curled into a fist. Harry broke eye contact just long enough to notice that last. Malfoy's thumb was pressing a slow circle against the side of his index finger, as if he were trying to make a decision. "You'd better be ready to run, Potter," he called as the doors closed.

Harry just had time to see Malfoy raise that fist at last, opening his hand to touch his lips.

  


***

  
Four days later, Harry had to stop himself from squeezing his fingers around that Mark when Malfoy locked his arms against the headboard to brace himself. One heel pressed into Harry's shoulder blade while the other leg sprawled against the mattress. The bed _thumped_ , just like the worst cliché, but Harry barely cared. He was too far gone, too deep inside Malfoy's tight body to slow down now.

Malfoy grunted at the press of Harry's fingers in his arm. "Potter," he gasped. " _Fuck_."

"This fucking angle," Harry muttered, pulling out. "Turn over." He gripped Malfoy's waist and coaxed him, a long whine of protest leaving Malfoy's mouth. But he obediently settled on his hands and knees, one palm still splayed against the headboard as if expecting to be rocked forward harder than he could take. Harry gripped his cock and drove back in, Malfoy's body slick and open but still hugging him like a glove.

He curled one hand around Malfoy's thigh and the other over his shoulder, hauling Malfoy back on his cock till he couldn't breathe. They'd barely spoken before they'd stumbled into this rented room together, and they weren't speaking now, either. What would they have said, anyway? Harry had never cheated on his wife before. He'd never known he wanted to, until Malfoy had pressed himself into Harry's personal space the other day and levelled those accusations.

Harry came with a sharp groan, grinding against Malfoy's arse and gripping his hips in case Malfoy tried to get away. A streak of satisfaction burned through him, and not just from his orgasm. This was _Malfoy_ – beautiful, irritating Malfoy, the focus of everything wrong in Harry's life since he was a kid. Fucking him boneless and coating him with come gave Harry an odd sense of accomplishment. He stayed inside, reaching around to fist Malfoy's prick.

"You like that?" he whispered, his breath hot over Malfoy's back. Malfoy didn't answer, but his head dropped between his shoulders and he locked his elbows, grinding back against Harry's softening prick.

Malfoy came in a rush, covering Harry's hand as he groaned deeply, his arms trembling. He panted as Harry's cock slipped free. When he finally turned to look over his shoulder, his mouth was curved into a smirk. "You just wanted to fuck a Death Eater." He was almost _teasing_.

Harry grinned. "Is that all you are?" His hand slid gently over Malfoy's back as he sat back on his heels.

"That's all I am to _you_." The teasing tone dissolved into something else.

Ah. Harry considered his next words. He was still short of breath, and he took a moment to wipe his hand on the stained sheets and sit back against the footboard. Malfoy rolled over lazily and pushed himself up on his elbows, seemingly unconcerned with his nakedness. He regarded Harry. "If that was true," said Harry quietly, "you probably wouldn't be here."

They were both silent for a long moment. Malfoy looked like he might speak several times, but then thought the better of it and pressed his lips together. Finally, he met Harry's gaze. "Did I just buy myself some time?" he asked quietly.

Harry considered that as well, but then, to his surprise, he answered honestly. He hadn't answered any questions honestly in ages, really. "No. It's not like that. I–" he ran his hand through his hair, then pushed himself off the bed. The adrenaline had worn off, and he was knackered. "I have no issue with you, all right? You're not... you're not like the rest of them."

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do. This..." he gestured at the bed, bending to reach for his jeans in a heap by the door. "... got you out of my system." He grinned. "Like I said: no issue with you. But I've got a wife and a career and all that, right?" The smile faded. "Don't give me any _reason_ to have an issue with you."

"I could turn you in right now." Malfoy's tone wasn't threatening so much as conversational, as if he honestly wanted to make sure Harry had considered all angles.

Harry took his time in buttoning his jeans and pulling his t-shirt over his head. He grabbed his wand and keys from the nightstand. Finally, he shrugged. "No evidence."

Malfoy regarded him. "How are you doing it, then?"

Harry wet his lips. "You working with my wife? She's the journalist."

Malfoy looked away. "No, obviously. Just... curious. I'm not exactly opposed to it, as long as..."

"I have no issue with you," repeated Harry. After a long moment, Malfoy cleared his throat and nodded.

"All right," he said softly.

Without another word, Harry left.

He only ever saw Malfoy at the occasional Ministry function after that, and they never touched each other again.

  


***

  
**ii. No. That was too easy. It happens like this:**

  
"Morning, Harry."

"What's the good word today, Frank?"

"Oh, you know. Same old."

"Yeah, I hear that. How's Connie and the kids?"

"Would you believe her mother's comin' down this weekend? Christ. Probably just to natter at me for bein' a good-for-nothin', like usual."

"Ah, yeah, that's rough."

"So, big case today?"

"Always, Frank. Always."

"You keep finding them criminals, mate. We're all grateful to you for it."

"Well, thanks, Frank. That means a lot."

"You know the drill." Frank yawned. "Wand on the table."

With a bored sigh, Harry dropped his wand for its daily inspection, taking a sip from his paper cup of coffee while Frank ran it through the test field.

"Spells beyond class three performed since last checked," a woman's disembodied voice said in clear, clipped tones. "Scourgification. Banishment. Incarceration."

Harry gave Frank a bashful shrug of his shoulders. "Damn criminals. Busy day yesterday."

Frank whistled in agreement, folding his hands over his stomach.

"Banishment. Summoning. Reduction. Enlargement. Parchment distribution. Incarceration. Expelliarmus. Banishment. You are clear to proceed, Auror Potter. Have a pleasant day."

Harry gave Frank a mock salute as he took his wand back. It wasn't until he emerged from the lift and shut his office door that he realised he was sweating.

  


***

  
"I know what you're doing."

The soft puff of breath. The body standing too close behind him. The lift doors opening and shutting while Harry tried to decide how much damage this conversation could do to him. "That so?"

"I suppose you think you're clever, saving the world yet again. It won't work, though." Draco Malfoy had never sought him out like this before. The war was five years gone. They passed each other in life when circumstances required it, but they never talked like this. " _They're onto you_."

He couldn't know. _No one_ knew. When Harry turned to face Malfoy at last, the look in his eyes surprised him. This was not just about confrontation or even blackmail. This was about something else entirely. This was about that faded, ugly twist of ink on Malfoy's arm, the heat in his gaze, the unspoken invitation to let him prove his worth to Harry.

Harry thought of nothing else the rest of the week.

  


***

  
Four days later, Harry's orgasm still pounding through his blood, he hovered over Malfoy's back, breathing hard. Malfoy's come coated his hand, and Harry had to stop himself from grinning like an idiot into Malfoy's heated skin. That was fucking incredible – the pace of it, the strength, the way Malfoy had spread himself out and offered to take as much as Harry could give. Who would have thought Malfoy would have it in him to fuck like that?

"You like that?" He bit at Malfoy's shoulder blades.

Malfoy tried to appear nonchalant, but he was still panting. "You just wanted to fuck a Death Eater."

Harry's chest tightened. "No, I don't think so," he bit out. He turned Malfoy over and appraised him, sitting back on his heels while Malfoy pushed himself up on his elbows. His face was guarded – interested but cautious, Harry decided. He skimmed his hand down Malfoy's left arm, pausing at the Mark. When Malfoy snatched it away, Harry followed, falling back down to the bed and trapping Malfoy there. He straddled Malfoy's hips and pinned his arms, giving him a feral smile. "Not so fast," he murmured.

Eyes bright, Malfoy stopped struggling for the time being but stayed alert, his gaze on Harry's mouth. Harry leaned down and brushed his lips against Malfoy's to relax him.

"Hey," he said softly, his tongue light against Malfoy's bottom lip. "I just want to look."

Malfoy relaxed a fraction, and Harry sat back, his gaze zeroing in on Malfoy's arm. He'd never bothered to look at a Dark Mark up close before, not even when he'd had the opportunity. It wasn't safe to stay around the bodies too long, for one, and for another... well, he didn't know why not. It was easier just to believe they were there, to know it in his heart, without having to see proof like that. He pulled Malfoy's arm toward him and laid it on his lap, skimming his fingers over the skin. It was smooth, almost translucent, as though the Mark were sitting under the surface, not marring the skin itself. It looked like it could rise and fall; that would explain why it seemed faded. It wasn't any dimmer, really, just further from the surface.

Experimentally, he made a light scratch against it with his fingernail. He raised his eyes to Malfoy. "Does that hurt?"

"No." Malfoy was watching him intently, his jaw tight.

"Maybe it should."

"Maybe it's not up to you to decide."

Harry considered that. He sighed, pulling away from Malfoy's arm and stretching out beside Malfoy's lean body. He let their ankles tangle, just to see what Malfoy would do. Their softened pricks lay curled against their thighs, and Harry had a mad impulse to run his hand over Malfoy's stomach and chest, to touch him again already even though they'd only just finished fucking. "It's not that I'm deciding," he said quietly. Malfoy's head turned on the pillow, regarding him. "I think that's already been decided, you know? It's just that... I can't sleep, not with them still out there."

Malfoy's ankle slowly began to slide against Harry's. With his fingernail, Malfoy scratched a light mark up Harry's left forearm, then he leaned down and licked it. "Marked you," he murmured.

Harry's breath caught, and with a groan, he hauled Malfoy over top of him, digging his fingers into Malfoy's arse and grinding up against him.

Hovering over him, Malfoy leaned down and kissed his way up Harry's chest, pausing to bite at his nipples and then his throat. His mouth close to Harry's ear, he asked, "Do you believe people can be reformed?"

"No."

Malfoy pulled back to face him. "Doesn't even stop to think about it," he muttered.

"Malfoy." Harry reached up to frame his face, brushing the blond hair back from his brow. Death Eater or not, Malfoy was really fucking beautiful. Harry paused for a moment just to look. "You're not the same. You never killed anyone."

"I believed, though. Isn't that enough for you and your _cause_?"

Harry bent his knees, planting his feet on the bed and pushing Malfoy's prick over top of his. He gave a low growl, trapping Malfoy's hands. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Then what do you want to talk about?" Malfoy's lips were parted, curved in challenge.

Harry pulled him down for a searing kiss, his prick jolting against Malfoy's and sending sparks of pleasure through him again. "Enough talking," he murmured.

When he didn't come home that night, Harry never knew how much Ginny worried. Not that he was with someone else, but for a different reason altogether.

  


***

  
"It's just, it's odd, don't you think?"

Harry couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy. The way his skin felt when it was heated and damp from exertion; the way his eyes darkened before he came; the way he could move in seconds from nipping Harry's throat with kisses that seemed almost _romantic_ to spreading his legs and begging to be fucked hard and deep. Harry had to see him again. He was the reason Harry had embarked on this mission to begin with; he had to be. Why else would one accusation murmured in Harry's ear at work one day have led them to fall into bed together, biting and aching and clinging to each other like they'd been denied this for years? He had to be the one missing piece, the one who would settle this once and for all.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Hm?"

"Harry, are you sure you can't tell me anything about this case? You've worked a few of the murders, haven't you? Luna and I are at our wit's end." Ginny sighed, taking another sip of wine before pushing her food around on her plate.

"No, I don't work those ones. You know that. Kingsley doesn't think it's a good idea."

"But you were at the Yaxley scene, right?"

Harry stopped with his fork halfway to his mouth, momentarily stuttering on the right answer. "No."

She regarded him. "I talked to Kingsley. He said you were sent to that one."

Harry scratched his jaw. "I– oh. Well, I went, but some others were already in the house, so I left them to it."

"Oh." She frowned at her plate before scooping up some potatoes. "Okay."

Fuck. He'd started this, so now he had to finish it. And soon. Once it was all over, the talk would die down, the cases would be closed, and they could all move on. He was making a better world, wasn't he? That was why they'd fought the fucking war in the first place. Yaxley, that rotten fucking bastard, had actually had the gall to say his side had been fighting for _honour_. Glory, maybe – Harry could believe they genuinely thought that. But that those last Death Eaters still claimed they were doing the right thing, that the Wizengamot had been right to pardon them... _No_.

None of them were sorry. None had reformed. He swallowed a bite of chicken that threatened to lodge in his throat and gave Ginny a weak smile.

Everyone was counting on him, just like before. They just didn't know it this time. And he still wasn't about to let them down. There was only one left now. He had to see this through, and then it would finally be over, and he could breathe.

  


***

  
He had to do it while their clothes were still on, or he'd lose his nerve.

" _Expelliarmus_."

He whispered it, barely a breath of air, but Malfoy heard. His back had been turned while he set his wand on the bureau, his shirt already off and his belt flapping loose against his trousers. He froze at the word, even as his wand whirled out of his hand and into Harry's. Slowly, Malfoy turned to face him. He was silent for a long moment, until Harry was nearly thrown off by his calm.

"You can be traced here, if they try hard enough," he said at last, taking a cautious step forward. "Tawdry hotel room with your fuck of the week. It's so boring it's cliché. The papers might not even run it. Well, not the affair, at least. The murder will be front page news for certain."

"You're the last one," murmured Harry, just as Malfoy's steps finally reached him. Unafraid, Malfoy cupped Harry's jaw, looking into his eyes. "I have to finish this."

"I never killed anyone."

"Doesn't matter."

"I know." Malfoy leaned in and kissed him.

"I've been waiting for you," Harry said against his lips, his fingers reaching for Malfoy's trousers despite his better judgment. "I didn't even know it till that day at the lift."

"You knew I was a Death Eater. You knew this day would come, if you kept to this mission you've given yourself."

Harry paused. He didn't know that, actually, not really. He'd thought only of Yaxley and Goyle and the other old men with their greying teeth and slimy grins. "Yeah," he said instead. "I guess I did."

Malfoy took Harry's bottom lip between his, a gentle and harsh motion all at once. He let their foreheads touch. "Expelliarmus," he said, considering. "I hadn't actually thought of that." He pulled back, taking a shaky breath. "So when they trace your past spells, that's all they see. But then, how do you..." His eyes were scanning the room, only belatedly landing on the knife Harry had slipped onto the nightstand when Malfoy's back was turned. He paled.

"Clean," he whispered, his index finger sliding lightly across Malfoy's throat. "Won't hurt. I promise."

Malfoy's pulse raced under Harry's finger. "I could fight you."

"Wouldn't do any good."

"You don't know that."

"You think they haven't fought me before?"

Malfoy closed his mouth at that, taking in a shuddering breath. "This isn't how you're supposed to be. This isn't the same as saving people."

"Yes, it is."

Malfoy stared at him. "You... oh. _Oh_. Merlin. You really believe that, don't you?"

Annoyed, Harry pushed him back. "I can tie you to the bed or to the wall. Your choice."

"Tie me to the bed and make me come first." Malfoy lifted his chin in challenge. Harry only gave him a rueful smile.

"No. Sorry," he added.

Slowly, Malfoy walked to the bed and lay down on his back, his trousers still on and his chest taut from spreading his arms out to each post. A fallen angel, maybe, Harry thought as he watched, gathering his courage.

" _Incarcerous_." The ropes slithered around Malfoy's wrists and ankles, holding him firm. His jaw twitched where he clenched it. "If only you could have reformed," Harry whispered, his wand raised.

Malfoy turned his head to look at him, a long, sorrowful look. "If only you could believe that I have. They're onto you," he added, before Harry could reply to the first. "Still. This will cinch it. Your wife, Shacklebolt, they all know. They've known all along. They've just let you do it. Did you know that? What's one more dead Death Eater?"

"No," murmured Harry, his mind muddled. "Nobody knows. This is on me. _I'm_ the only one who can save everyone. Don't you see?"

"Harry–"

He raised his wand and pointed it at the knife. He couldn't think about this anymore. With one quick, firm word, it soared off the table, gathering speed as it headed for Malfoy's throat, and with sickening precision, it –

  


***

  
**iii. No. _Never_. It happens like this: **

  
"They're onto you."

Malfoy was so close, Harry could feel the hot puff of air on the back of his neck. His senses tingled down to his fingertips, and he took in a shaky breath before turning. " _They_ ," he said quietly, pressing just as far into Malfoy's personal space as Malfoy had done to him, Ministry foyer be damned. "Or you?"

He was so close his cheek nearly brushed Harry's. "I'm one of them. Remember?" A vision of Malfoy's Dark Mark seared through Harry's mind. No. Malfoy wasn't part of this. That was never the plan. A lock of hair fell over Malfoy's forehead, and Harry had to stop himself from reaching out to sweep it back.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Malfoy." He tried to pull himself together, taking a step back and squeezing his eyes shut. "I'm late for a meeting."

Malfoy said nothing more, only watched the lift doors close with his gaze burning into Harry's.

 _Fuck_. Harry had never been so grateful for a full lift in his life. Hidden at the back, he folded his hands together over his groin and silently pressed, trying to relieve some pressure. He was hard for Malfoy, and only from a few words exchanged in public at their shared workplace. What was wrong with him? He swallowed over a whimper when his fingers pushed against his balls, and he tried to stop trembling. This was insane.

  


***

  
It took four days for him to give in. He'd never cheated on his wife before, but if he was honest with himself, Malfoy had always been that one unattainable person lingering just outside his field of vision. Now that he had him, he couldn't stop himself from _wanting_ , over and over again.

He draped over Malfoy's back, panting, his cock softening and Malfoy's come sticky in his fist.

"You like that?"

"You just wanted to fuck a Death Eater." There was a lazy smile in Malfoy's tone. He sank down to the bed and Harry followed, tangling with him as they collapsed.

"Or I just wanted to fuck _you_." Harry caught Malfoy's gaze and held it, his body still alight with sensation. He dragged his clean hand over Malfoy's stomach and up his chest, broad, possessive strokes that soon had Malfoy closing his eyes and arching up for more.

He didn't make it home that night.

  


***

  
Kingsley called a department meeting. These killings needed to take higher priority. Sure, they'd all had a good laugh about it – Death Eaters, stabbed through the heart! At last! Every Auror who'd lived through the war knew the Wizengamot was only catering to the benefactors who'd been sympathetic to Voldemort in the first place; if it were up to Magical Law Enforcement, every one of those bastards would have been rounded up and thrown in Azkaban five years ago.

But the Auror force was dragging its heels on the investigations, Kingsley said, his voice grave. People were starting to ask questions.

"What are we supposed to do?" Harry ventured, earning nods from his team. "There are no magical traces to follow."

Kingsley put down his folder and spread his arms wide, planting his palms over the table in front of him. He leaned forward. "Doesn't that strike you as odd, Auror Potter?"

  


***

  
"We got pizza, mate."

"Harry, is that blood on your hand?"

"Pass me the wine."

"Come listen to this match on the wireless! The Cannons are winning for the first time in three hundred years!"

"Harry, it's all over you. You're _soaked_. We have to do something."

"More wine and another article about Snorkacks. But hey, at least it pays the bills."

"Are you sure you're all right, Harry? You're so pale."

"Pizza's getting cold. Come have a slice."

"Mum and Dad want us to come over for dinner on Sunday. I'll bring the wine."

"But the _blood_ , Harry! There's so much of it. What happened to you?"

His head swimming, Harry stumbled through the Floo, ignoring the swarm of voices in his ear. He made it to his bedroom and retched on the carpet.

  


***

  
"My father is dead."

The shadows cut across the rented room, giving it an eerie glow and hiding all the imperfections like the stained duvet or the bureau's missing back foot. Harry pushed his fingers through Draco's hair where they lay, still sweaty and sticky but with their breathing having evened out now in the quiet. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Draco rolled away from him, staring up at the ceiling. "How do you do it?" His voice was low in the darkness.

"Draco–"

"Not literally. I can guess at that, and what I can't guess I don't really want to know. But how do you... get ready for it? In here?" He folded his fist over his heart. Harry turned to him, covering his hand with his own.

"I don't know," he murmured. "I don't really have to. I just know it's the right thing. Everyone's counting on me to make the world better, you know? Don't roll your eyes." He gave Draco a swat.

"I'm not."

"Draco."

Draco turned to him, his silhouette stark in the fading light. Harry traced his jaw, angling him for a kiss. When he pulled back, his lips were light against Draco's.

"Why did you come tonight?" he murmured. "How can you possibly want to–"

"He deserved it."

Harry was quiet for a long time. What could he say?

"There's one left," said Draco. "Well. One besides me. Avery. I know where he is."

Harry ignored the last part. "Wait. Not anything besides you. You're not one of them."

"Oh, come on, Harry. You're just biding your time. You have to finish what you started."

"No!" Harry pushed himself up, looming over Draco and breathing hard before he realised how menacing he must look. He sank back down, covering Draco's body and pressing deep, devouring kisses to his throat. " _No_." After a hesitating moment, Draco's hand smoothed over his back, drawing him closer. Harry met his eyes through the shadows. "No. Never. Not you. You're different."

"What if I'm not?"

Harry choked. He couldn't answer that. He couldn't _contemplate_ that. "You are." He moved over top of Draco, kicking the sheets down. "You are, you are, you have to be." He kissed him like he'd die if he didn't, drinking in Draco's low, suppressed gasps and rocking his hips until Draco responded, pressing his prick against Harry's and moaning low in his throat. "Do you trust me?" he whispered, his mouth buried in the curl of hair behind Draco's ear, and Draco scratched his nails down Harry's back, hauling him between his spread legs.

"I don't know," he gasped, tilting his head back as Harry worked him open all over again. " _Fuck_ , Harry..."

Harry pressed inside and felt himself swell, his body moving slowly, steadily over Draco's with long, lazy thrusts until Draco was biting at his shoulder and burying his hands in Harry's hair. Harry only pressed Draco's thighs further apart and pushed in, over and over again, the shadows falling across Draco's chest and hip and clouding his face in ash, the brightness of the streetlamp below only illuminating the Mark on his arm. Harry closed his fist over it to push it away, out of his mind, his body soaring as Draco pulled him in deeper, groaning his name.

They lay together afterwards, the orange light of dawn creeping up the walls.

"You have to be ready to run," murmured Draco, his hand stroking rhythmically over Harry's back.

Sleepy, Harry gave him a lazy smile. "Come with me?"

"It's not that simple, is it?"

Harry yawned. "Could be." He nestled against Draco's shoulder. "I'll save you," he whispered.

When he awoke, Draco was gone.

  


***

  
Harry crept back home in the early morning light and slid into bed. Ginny was keeping to her side of the bed despite his absence. She stiffened as he climbed in, but neither of them spoke.

"Harry," she whispered after a long silence. "Why did you lie about Yaxley?"

He held his breath. Neither of them looked at the other. "Whatever happened to him," he whispered at last, "I'm sure he deserved it."

"I– yes. I'm sure he did. But–" Her breathing hitched, and Harry rolled onto his side, away from her.

"I'm tired, Gin. That case I'm on," he added weakly, as if that would explain where he'd been all night. "We'll talk tomorrow."

She was silent for so long that he thought she really had fallen asleep. He was so close. One more, and it would be over. If they found Avery, Harry could finally rest. He needed to tell Ginny about Draco. He needed to make changes, and he would. The world he'd saved again would be a better place for everyone, including him and Draco. He was nearly asleep, comforted by that thought, when Ginny's silent shaking roused him again.

She couldn't keep the sob from tearing from her throat, even as she tried to mask her whisper into the darkness. "Harry." Her voice was barely audible. "Your _soul_."

He deepened his breathing to mimic the slow, steady rhythm of sleep, his eyes wide open as he stared at the wall.

When he awoke, Ginny was gone.

 _I'm sorry, Harry_ , the note said. _I had to_.

  


***

  
Harry didn't go into work that morning. He Apparated to the little room he and Draco always rented and sat quietly on the bed, rubbing his palms over his thighs. He had to figure out who Ginny had told – whether it was just Luna, or Kingsley, or if the papers that morning would blare the headline.

He was _helping_ them. Why couldn't they all see? He'd never do this to someone good, someone with a generous soul, someone who hadn't killed innocent people themselves. Why didn't they trust him to save them again?

All of a sudden Draco appeared in the room with a great _crack_ , falling to his knees and gulping in breaths of air. His robes were torn and he had a gash on his jaw. "You're here." His face creased briefly in what Harry hoped was relief.

"Yeah," he began. "I didn't know if I should–"

"Shut up. No time. Come _on_." He stumbled to his feet, grabbing Harry's arm. Harry's heart plummeted to the floor.

"Tell me," he gasped, his voice low and his throat constricting around the words.

"My wand," Draco panted, his eyes wild. " _Priori Incantatem_ this morning."

Harry's head swam. "Priori... oh God. What did you _do_?"

"Found Avery." Draco gritted his teeth. "Harry, I swear to God, if you don't shut the fuck up and come with me in the next two seconds, I'm going without you."

Harry slammed Draco up against the wall and clamped his fingers around each of his arms. "Ten seconds," he growled, "and first you tell me what spell they found."

"What spell do you think?" shouted Draco, clawing at Harry's chest to get free.

"No," whispered Harry. "You don't have it in you to use the Killing Curse."

Draco didn't answer. He fell slack, the fight bleeding out of him, until he quietly tilted his forehead to touch Harry's. His fists slowly released their hold on Harry's shirt, and he sighed as if letting out a great burden. "It's done," he murmured.

"Not you." Harry could hardly breathe. "Never you."

Draco leaned in that last inch and captured Harry's mouth, his lips soft but urgent as his fingers slid up to frame Harry's face. Harry moaned, letting himself fall. "Save me?" whispered Draco, his lips wet and his body trembling.

Harry nodded, his mind blurred and his cheek brushing Draco's. He wrapped his arms around Draco and concentrated on his destination just as he began to hear voices shouting at the end of the hallway. "Ready?"

They ran.

-fin-


End file.
